


Not Knowing

by stormchasersteve



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Drabble, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Jaskier is a good bro, Worry, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormchasersteve/pseuds/stormchasersteve
Summary: Geralt is out of his depth.  Thankfully, Jaskier is thoroughly used to being out of his depth.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Not Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> For Charlie

The princess slept by the campfire, her face shadowed from exhaustion and too many tears. Geralt watched over her with furrowed brow, perched just outside the glow of the firelight. His golden eyes barely blinked, and there was a tension to his lips and a heaviness in his shoulders.

"You've found her. She's not going anywhere, now," the bard said lightly as he approached, offering the Witcher his bottle of gods-knew-what alcohol. Geralt accepted it without breaking his gaze to Ciri, took a deep gulp, and grimaced.

"Too sweet," he muttered, thrusting the bottle back towards Jaskier.

"Yeahhhhhhhh..." the bard agreed, taking a swig himself but seeming unbothered by the flavour. He passed the bottle again to Geralt, who drank again despite his sour expression of distaste.

A long moment of silence passed between them, giving Geralt the space he needed to form his thoughts into words - a lesson Jaskier knew he'd taken far too long to learn.

"Don't know what the fuck I'm doing," the Witcher said at last, his voice a low mutter laden with resignation.

Jaskier gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement. "None of us ever do. I rather think it's something we all have in common," he said with a rueful little smile, accepting the bottle back from Geralt. He ran his thumb over the brown glass. "We're all making it up as we go along. Just doing our best."

Geralt let out a huff of frustration. "But I _should_ know what I'm doing," he growled.

The bard snorted and shook his head. "Why _should_ you? Have you ever been in a situation like this before? You... know it's okay not to know things, right?" Leaning back against a tree stump, he crossed one leg over the other and looked at the Witcher. "I never know what the fuck I'm doing. And sure, I cock up and make an arse of myself all the time - but I'm still going. Still fulfilling my life's purpose of annoying the everloving shit out of you," he dug his elbow into the Witcher's ribs, and received a mild warning growl for his trouble, but there was no heat behind it. After years of travelling together, the unlikely pair had reached an entente that - if not always _cordial_ \- was at least respectful. Sometimes on a good day it could even be called fond, not that either of them would ever dare say as much out loud.

The Witcher chewed over the bard's words in silence, his lips tight. After a while Ciri startled, rolling over and looking up at him with wide eyes that spoke of nightmares. "H-how many more monsters will we have to fight before we get to Kaer Morhen?" she asked in a tight trembling voice, the exhaustion from the journey written all over her face.

Geralt glanced away from her at last, his eyes shadowed as he made calculations. At this time of year, given the disruption in the forests from all the southern refugees -

Jaskier cleared his throat lightly, and took a sip from his bottle with raised eyebrows.

Meeting Ciri's eyes again, the Witcher let out a breath and set his shoulders firmly, as though he'd just decided upon something important. "Don't know exactly. Could be quite a few," he admitted, "But however many, I _will_ keep you safe."

Ciri blinked, and then gave him a little smile. Settling back down on her bedroll, she was asleep again in moments, the taut lines of worry softening from her face.

"Huh," Geralt grunted, looking over to Jaskier with mild astonishment.

The bard was going to be unbearably smug.


End file.
